Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
TIZZOP Feb 2020
note: this is not a poem but an account of the mental aftermath of Hanau, where ten people got killed yesterday. one of them was the mother of the killer who worked in a bank, was paranoid and believed in conspiracy theories.

a turkish guy whose name means "justness" was shot to death by him. in the community, he was popular for his kindness.
he was killed because he was an immigrant, a muslim, and because he hung out with his friends in a shisha bar to enjoy his leisure time. got hit by bullets. died, leaving relatives, friends and an entire muslim community, the entire world, in daze.

met three uber drivers today, all of them muslims, two of them know some of the victims personally.  

the first one of them was desperately sad today. i asked him "how are you?" he answered "not well" and told me everything. i was very concerned because i can't deal with such inhumane cruelty.

the second driver was from pakistan. he argued that germany is an open-minded country and that he had left his country due to religious lunacy that is lived by some people there.

the third driver was interestingly humorous. as wired as it may sound, he thought positively after the assasination and said that the relatives of the victims should live on as if their people hadn't been killed.

i don't know about that; yet, everyone deals with terror differently.

hanau is just a couple of miles from my home city, frankfurt am main.

in my heart, my spirit and my soul, i am with all the victims, their relatives, friends and colleagues.



The killer killed himself after the crime.

What is there for us today? Peace. Peace. Peace.

OFFICIAL Somewhere over the Rainbow - Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole
sunshine Oct 2019
ran into the wrong dude in the wrong situation

was gonna call you up but you weren't answering

so now I'm in the back of an uber with the lies you told me
get drunk
get wild
break my heart

Àŧùl Jun 2019
On every terrorist incident,
Leave they not a stone unturned,
And scream it without fail.

Why do they think of 7th heaven,
Heaven after killing so many,
Of the innocent people?

Undertakers of Ola they are,
******* commit dastardly acts,
Ever will they be able to gaze,
Right into their own eyes in a mirror?
Ola Who Uber is their warcry

Secondary acrostic.

My HP Poem #1747
©Atul Kaushal
Sad Boy Jul 2018
Weather’s colder than I thought
Where is my Über?
Malignant gangrenous political cancer
     corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
     thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance

     with feeble minded Donald Trump
     implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
     human rights legislation

     more or less pronounced positive
     in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
     mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate

this forty fifth president (defect)
     with sawdust packing
     his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),

     a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
     t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,

     fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
     viz make America great
again, which pathless,

     pithless, and pointless aim
     roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
     train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
     that no era meets said criteria

     backtracking time machine before
     rightful indigenous occupants of this land
     got decimated as one after another
     exploiter did inundate

(comprising a multitude
     of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
     when first "discoverer"

     of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
     and extirpation, cuz

     a scathing rebuke aye attest,
     those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
     so called "Indians" on 1492 date,

and still remnants of storied tribes,
     now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog

tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
     no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
     uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Sarah Robinson May 2018
My favorite thing about this
Viral sensation
Has to be the complete lack
Of continuity
Throughout countries, states
Welcome to my little slice of
As I am fortunate enough
To get to share my Uber with
Some random stranger at
Approximately 11:47 pm
Is a shady city
Crawling with shady people
Mind you
I am just a 20 year old female
Very protective of my body
But wait, there’s more
For just half the unreasonable price of a shared ride
I can get an express car pool in which
I get to walk for 5 whole minutes
To the Denny’s parking lot
In the dead of night
Yay me.
The ride to my house, a normal
20 minute drive
Turns to 37 as we take a random exit
To pick up a random stranger
Who does not show up
But that’s fine
As it is
We renter the same highway 10 minutes later
In a futile attempt
To get me
Home before
12:30 am
That did not happen
Did you know that 24 hour Subways exist?
Me neither
It's her 21st Birthday and she’s out with her "friends"
So the first shot was on the house tonight
She believes she’s tipsy but that's not what I heard when she called me that night
She is going to die on her way home tonight
Not even an Uber would have saved her life
From a drunk driver going down the wrong side
and only one witness makes it out alive
that was me, on the phone
I cried
How could something so cliché
end a life
Prabhu Iyer Mar 2015
The door out back from a cosy hamlet
is too a thorny one that is not often tread

Just when all seems certain and settled
life comes knocking and seething.

And you go walking the starry path,
the wayward path, the meandering path
to nine yards of nowhereness.

Questions, some are never settled. Invitations
some are never forever. Rhythms are not
made to last, just like the seasons. Winters
are the longest, deepest and darkest
that etch their cold onto pestles of the heart
that want to pound down memories a tonic.

Emerge, shadowy oars, from mists unraveling
by the shorey oceans lining the soul,

Slow here are the sailboats of hope
that we unfurl in sodden winds
and keep rowing on, on to the shoreless zons.

when the cold gets to the bones, I make a bonfire
of all my pasts, longings and belongings,

oh the late gull that shrieks past the silences.

All, but love. That, I cannot burn,
for that I am, I loved, and will love,
change forms, change norms, but that I will.
Next up in the #Hermit series, dreamy surreal verse, exploring the fragility of hope and the endurance of love.

Next page